


catching stars and seas

by orphan_account



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Homophobia, Kageyama-centric, M/M, implied panic attack
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-24
Updated: 2015-05-24
Packaged: 2018-04-01 00:54:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,072
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3999763
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>in which kageyama tries so, so hard to accept who he is.</p><blockquote>
  <p>"his smile is an assail of melancholy, and his eyelashes are sprinkled with star dust, tear-stained with nothingness; and he cries, the skyline in front of him beginning to blur.<br/>he's gay. it's tragic."</p>
</blockquote>
            </blockquote>





	catching stars and seas

**Author's Note:**

> i've been living on caffeine and half-tears, and exams are very difficult,  
> so please accept this as a peace offering for my absence : )
> 
> {lowercase intended + title taken from garden city movement's "move on"}  
> {tumblr: jetpackcrows}

**i.**

****the taste of cloying water, all bitter sea-salt and harsh words linger between the cracks of his lips. a vast expanse of grey sky stretches out over his hunched figure. dusted periwinkle and perfumed clouds drift on overhead, and the moon has packed up, completely dismantled; and it's entirely obscured by the haze of the night, pierced only by the myriads of hushed stars shining down on him. in that moment, he is a mystery, an enigma; the nadir of the sun, a trace of the past. his smile is an assail of melancholy, and his eyelashes are sprinkled with star dust, tear-stained with nothingness; and he cries, the skyline in front of him beginning to blur. he's gay. it's tragic. he stares out at the apparent horizon, imaginary, a pretence of something not really there marked on an invisible celestial sphere; and he knows it doesn't exist. it doesn't exist. it never did.

_(it never will.)_

kageyama tobio has never been one for crying. he's a boy brimming with not-emotions and not-feelings, and he's always been overflowing with stuff that is not there and which never existed and which never will exist. yet now, now it's 3:27am and he's a boy brimming with all too many emotions and all too many feelings, overflowing with stuff that is painfully there and that is stabbing at him over and over and over again and that has sliced through his skin, boiled right down to his bloodstream, poignant. blunt, razor-blade frustration has never come so easily to him, yet now it has wrapped its calloused hands right around his neck and is squeezing tight, tight,  _tight_ \- and it's smothering, suffocating, bleeding asphyxiation, and he wishes it would stop, because it  _hurts_ , it really does. he knows it won't, though, it won't stop, and it'll continue, continue mercilessly until he's cold and decaying and just a bag of skin and bones and expired star-stuff; and it won't stop.

_(it doesn't stop. it never has. it never will.)_

the night is chilling. it's an obsidian-black inferno, dark and sour; and the wind is howling, draping itself over his evanescent red shoulders, covering him up like a burial shroud. and he thinks about himself, he thinks about himself, as he peers out at the sea. the waves crash.

kageyama knows that he is antimatter, rocketing through outer space, and no one can fully make sense of him. it's fair enough, though, because admittedly, he can't decipher the code of his own soul either; he's a universe that scientists and ordinary civilians alike just can't come to terms with, just can't seem to get their heads around. then again, no one's ever tried before- not even him. no one's ever wanted to unravel his mind and spirit, and no one's ever wanted to delve deeper beneath the tissues of his skin and into the fragility of his bones. no one's ever wanted to take his heart into their cold hands gently, and no one's ever tried to just _understand_ him. no one's ever tried.  _ever._

so now, someone attempting to reach deeper within him is scary. it's like there's a monster swelling up from the outside, slowly clawing its way in, ripping through his blood vessels and his vena cava and his pulmonary artery, tearing into his heavy-lidded lungs. the monster knocks the breath out of him as it swims through the oxygenated blood and pulmonary vein, finally into his heart, and it leaves crystalline stars crusting all around his eyelids as he struggles to see the true nature of this beast taking over him.

but this monster, this particular new monster invading his mind isn't scary. it isn't scary at all. kageyama wonders, when did monsters transform from ugly and looming and colossal to tiny, tiny, slender humans? when did they lose their terrifying mouths, narrow eye-slits, and scrunched noses, only to welcome button-like features, gentle golden eyes, and utterly kissable lips? when did the archetypal villain become a slim, lithe boy with a luminous smile like the earth and wild, tangled, orange hair? when?

it's bittersweet. kageyama has always been afraid of monsters, ever since he was a kid; he'd beg his mother to sleep next to him, his breath hitching whenever he'd think of what could be hidden between the walls and underneath his bed.  
_mum! mum! please help me! it's coming! please!  
_ as he'd grown older, the indistinguishable silhouettes had begun to effloresce, blooming into horrors he'd recognised and loathed to his very core. no longer menacing blobs, they'd formed the shapes of disappointed teammates, of turned backs and cutting glares, of lips rendering him " _arrogant_ " and " _king of the court_ ", " _a lone genius_ " and " _just another fucking faggot._ " they'd formed the shapes of his mother's face looking ashen and ashamed, of his father's cascading suitcase the day he left, of the alkaline tears shed by everyone around him except  _him_. those pitiful shapes had left acid in his mouth, and it had burnt into his parched tongue, and he'd hated it. he'd hated it so, so,  _so_  goddamn much, the taste of biting trepidation and anxiety- but it'd been his only friend, his only constant, back then.

now, though, somehow kageyama is  _drawn_  to his monsters, the same way everyone is eventually entranced by their own fears. it's a strange, maybe even unnatural sentiment, the way he gets a rush of adrenaline all throughout his body whenever he imagines the things that scare him most in the world-  isolation, for example, or loneliness, or a pair of bright eyes and a halcyon smile. he knows that the blood pounding in his ears is never actually  _good_  when he ponders upon such things- they lead to tumultuous nightmares, spine-chilling paralysis, that toxic sting on his ego- but it's the same feeling he gets whenever he looks at a certain bright-eyed boy, and talks to that certain bright-eyed boy, and even  _thinks_  about that certain bright-eyed boy. 

hinata makes him feel that way. he makes kageyama want to scream and sob, and he's the reason why kageyama chokes on air sometimes and so often feels the swell of a lump blistering in his throat. hinata makes him want to run far, far away until his muscles are roaring and his pulse is hammering, makes him want to dive off of the edge of the universe only to realise that he’s been a bird all along, makes him want to tear his own hair out and cry bitterly and implode with anger. he makes kageyama want to spend lingering nights wondering about life, and he makes kageyama want to grab him by the collar, punch him a thousand times, kiss him until his lips stained black-and-blue.

 _shit_. yes. hinata in general makes kageyama want a lot of things, his very being above all, and kageyama? he doesn't know how he's going to cope. he doesn't know how he's going to cope with these feelings at all.

**ii.**

****summer camp, coach ukai had decided, would be held at a beach; complete with rickety wooden cabins to sleep in, scorching-hot weather, and the ubiquitous sound of the ocean's waves washing over each other wearily. practising on the rough sand, according to their over-zealous coach, would help them improve their footwork and make the training suitably rigorous; and also, it'd obviously aid the boys in progressing their volleyball careers. _obviously_.

ukai had conveniently forgotten, however, the ever-so-forgettable issue of dehydration, the way humans tend to run out of steam when they've been working gruelingly hard for over six hours. by the end of most days, therefore, kageyama and his team would be bent in half, heaving for breaths and sweating like pigs, and even water would not be able to quench their thirst. hinata, though, would always be up for more of a challenge- his stamina was seemingly endless, his energy bubbling and eyes always glowing with excitement and hope. he was hopeless, exerting his body way beyond its natural capabilities and tiring himself out relentlessly, before repeating it all the next day- and nothing, not even daichi's dire warnings, could stop him from frantically practising.  
_he's so stupid_ , kageyama thinks now, watching the ocean stir.  _he's so wonderful._

but despite everything, despite all the bad bits and moments of wheezing from sheer dehydration, summer camp has been an adventure. it really, really has.

kageyama feels like the last night of camp has crept up on him way too quickly, and of course he can't sleep because of that. why  _would_  he? his mind is buzzing with a thousand-and-one stray thoughts and ideas- in particular, how this camp has taught him so many goddamn things about himself, what he really is, what his identity means- and it's overwhelming, really, plunging him into this never-ending insomnia. never before in his life has he thought so hard about anything other than volleyball- hell, he hadn't felt the need to, so why  _would_  he? summer camp, however, has taught him how to live somewhere away from home for days on end, and how to act tactfully on a beach; it's taught him how to truly be part of a team, and how to trust someone so much that it's scary. oh, and how could he forget that  _one_  talk he'd been given by suga and daichi, during the camp? that, too.

it was possibly the most significant talk he's ever had in his life, kageyama knows.

and  _definitely_  the most terrifying.

the talk about being gay.

**iii.**

****_four days earlier_

it's early afternoon when it happens, the sun at its zenith, the players wild and eager and fired-up beyond compare. the landscape of the beach is a symphony of grace, a melody of euphonious chaos; and there are clouds dotted across the blazing sky, all cerulean summer and tropical fruit and the scent of diluted happiness. but kageyama, kageyama can't pay attention to his picturesque surroundings, for he can't keep his eyes off of hinata. even the rural beauty can't distract him from that furious ball of  _stupid fucking_  energy zooming around, calling for the ball like the annoying little  _shit_  he is-  _"bring it! bring it! one more toss! come on!"_

 _(yes, he's a stupid fucking shit and it's annoying, but it's endearing,_  kageyama thinks.  _it's beautiful.)_

the practice passes by in a flurry of ink-black crow feathers, a soft sprinkling of sand under bare feet, a chorus of sunlit yells and brilliant cheers; and by the end, everyone's exhausted, perspiration trickling down their foreheads and mouths stretched wide in the euphoria of hard work and success. dusk sweeps over them, the chatoyant solar rays painting the sky rouge, and the team trudges back to their cabins languidly with the sound of the ocean lilting beside them.

it's just another day at camp.

_(but not for kageyama.)_

the wind blows, and it's so sudden, so sudden. most of the team saunter into the sunset almost romantically, disappearing behind the creaky wooden doors and chatting animatedly about dinner (they're  _hungry,_ like a pack of wolves, which is what six hours of volleyball tends to do to people), but daichi and suga hang back, whispering in hushed voices. when kageyama is fumbling with the latch of the cabin himself, shaking his head at the rowdy bickering coming from the inside, daichi calls out to him.  
"yo, kageyama, can suga and i speak to you for a minute?"  
it's his firmest, most assertive tone, and kageyama instantly swivels around, eyes guarded and wide. suga offers him a reassuring smile, but both their demeanours are still threatening, somehow; daichi's broad back casts a shadow over the two of them, and suga's ashen hair is tousled from the breeze in a too-perfect-to-be-real way. it's unnerving.  
kageyama walks back towards them, fists clenched and head lowered, and that's when it happens.

"is anything wrong?" he says when he reaches them, ambiguous, vague; and he's totally unaware of their true intentions, knotting his star-studded fingers together nervously.  
_maybe it's about volleyball?_    
_have i been too controlling, too demanding again?_  
_fuck, are they going to kick me out? this can't be happening._  no.  
_what have i done wrong?_

_(king of the court!)_

suga puts his arm around daichi, sighing and looking down, his fringe fluttering softly in the evening zephyr.  
"nothing's wrong," he says, looking up with a gentle, piercing gaze.  
the wind blows, and it's so sudden. so sudden.  
"but, i... we were just wondering. you've been zoning out quite a bit during practice, and your tosses aren't as honed as they could be, right now. is there any reason why?"  
inwardly, kageyama lets out a long-drawn exhale of relief.  _it's just about my skills. it's fine. everything's okay_.  
"i'm sorry," he apologises, bowing. "i'll work harder tomorrow, and the day after, and the day after that too."  
but they're not satisfied.   
"suga, stop beating around the bush! we  _know_  that you'll work harder, kageyama," daichi says irritably to the first-year. his countenance is sharp, and ever so slightly scary.  
"you're a genius, so it's not a problem- everyone loses concentration sometimes, i get that. what we  _really_  wanted to talk to you about, though, is  _why_  you're so distracted, these days."  
"why?" kageyama echoes dumbly, at a loss for words. what's he supposed to say?  _oh, hinata's just really fucking gorgeous and maddening at the same time, and for some reason i can't stop thinking about him, and he frustrates me to no end, and i think i adore him way more than i really should, and maybe the people at middle school were right when they called me a "faggot?" y'know, maybe i'm_ actually _that fucking sick, maybe i'm into guys?_

daichi continues, ignoring the way kageyama has suddenly become troubled, aghast.  
"we've both noticed that you're a little too absorbed with hinata."  
that's when kageyama stops breathing. he looks up, horrified.  
"and it's not just on the court, but  _outside_  of it too. and we were wondering about it quite a lot, y'know? it's affecting your gameplay.  
you're... you're gay, aren't you?"  
and kageyama. kageyama just  _stares_.  
the expressions on their faces have suddenly turned to caring, understanding, as if it's enough to dull the crushing impact of being gay, unnatural, hated. nevertheless, the old monsters pound against kageyama's head all of a sudden; as loud and as startlingly painful as the thud of a purposefully-missed volleyball toss.  
_king of the court. lone genius. self-absorbed. self-invoked._  
_faggot._  
_faggot._  
_faggot._  
_(FAGGOT!)_  
_just another fucking faggot._  
  
there's a trembling throb in kageyama's chest, a heavy cloud wrapping itself round his arteries and coiling  _tight_. it feels like the embodiment of stormy-grey, turbulent, and it feels like there is acid rain exploding in his veins, showering over his vulnerable bones. his attempts to take in lungfuls of air but he fails, and it only amplifies the feeling of something swelling in his stomach, grazing at his organs, engulfing his soul in bitter darkness.  
  
_faggot._  
  
he supposes the way he's been focusing on hinata is what gave him away. he's angry, because is that his fault? is it really? he can't help but admire the way hinata's shirt drapes loosely over his small shoulders, the way it hitches up to reveal a slither of star dust skin whenever he stretches, the way he extends his legs after practice and his muscles pull taut and his laugh is infectious. he can't help but fall in love with the way he peers up through long, jewel-studded eyelashes, the way he rambles on and on and on about everything and nothing in particular, the way his smile is contagious enough to make kageyama feel alive. he can't help it.  
  
but it's what he can't help that's gotten him into this mess. daichi and suga probably don't want him on the team, anymore, and he'll be forced to depart in shame; tears held in as he watches karasuno, too, turn their backs on him, walking into the distance without need of their genius setter. all the friendships he's had, all the memories he's made- they'll simply crumble away, merely become something he reminisces on daily with a tremulous ache in his soul and melancholy pulsating through his veins.

worst of all, he'll see hinata's face twisted in disgust, all cherry-pink embarrassment that he's the victim of kageyama's illicit affection. maybe he'll even go further than that, offer him a crooked grin of absolute pity and say,  _well, too bad, looks like you aren't invincible after all_ , and then he'll chuckle and walk away and maybe get a girlfriend while he's at it.

yes, he's doomed.  
  
"kageyama?"  
he doesn't know what he's going to do. how will he _ever_ be able to cope with his closest friends-  _ex-friends_ , now- knowing he's gay? what if his mum hears about it, disapproves, and kicks him out because she's inherently homophobic, just like the rest of them? what then?  
"kageyama..."  
what if he's left homeless, bedraggled and exhausted on the streets with no-one offering him food or money because of how goddamn  _gay_  he is? what then?  
_(he isn't dead, he only looks that way.)  
_ "KAGEYAMA!" daichi bellows, and he jolts to a stop, holding his head in his hands and tightening, tightening, _tightening_ as the clock ticks on, and he cannot breathe, he cannot think, he is so, so afraid of what's going to happen, and what  _is_  going to happen? what does the future hold for him? darkness, darkness, he's hopeless, he's powerless...  ( _there's_   _a stabbing sensation at his throat, and blackness creeping in at the edges of his vision, and nothing... nothing... oblivion..._ )  
_faggot. faggot._

"kageyama. it's okay," he hears suga say faintly, through the fingers laced together across his ears, blocking out the deafening silence and noise, the frigid evening air engulfing him all of a sudden. "kageyama.  _kageyama_. nothing's wrong, and everything's fine, okay? can you hear me? kageyama, everything is going to be okay..."  
his breathing is shallow, his pulse erratic in his neck as he gulps for air, air,  _air_ , goddamn it. there's a ringing in his head, prickly, spiralling across his brain in painful circles and trajectories, and he's gone, he's so completely and utterly gone. suga's voice, though, is soothing, relaxing, feather-soft like a euphemism. it's a false melody of hope,  _hope_. 

he's calming. he's so, so calming.  
"kageyama, i don't know what you're thinking, but it's all right, okay? daichi and i know how you're feeling, do you understand? we're just trying to tell you that everything is fine, and the team is fine. breathe, kageyama. breathe."  
"why are you assuming that i'm gay?" he spits out, tone twined with harsh bitterness, and he regrets it instantly. his terrible acting could never make up for the adoring looks he's directed towards hinata, the uncomfortable nights he's had thinking about him.  _never_. now, he just looks stupid, trying to cover up the obvious.  
however- "we're not assuming anything," daichi says in response, almost gently. " _just_. if you are- i'm the captain of your team, and i swear to god, i could've used some help like this, too. we... we need you to know that it's fine, okay? you need to pay more attention in practice, though, right? that's my only issue."  
a pause, and there's a lump in his throat. "it's that obvious, huh." kageyama responds quietly. his face is impassive.   
he stares at the ground, and then-  
_  
faggot.  
  
_ "i'm sorry," he gets out, voice choked in his esophagus. "i'm so, so sorry. i don't want to be this way, i'm  _sorry_..."  
"kageyama, no!" suga cries, and he looks genuinely hurt, genuinely empathetic and concerned. "what are you apologising for? you have  _nothing_  wrong with you, how many times?"  
"don't you dare apologise again." daichi growls, and contrary to suga, he seems frustrated, irritated, almost mad with fury, but at himself. "we're not here to help you figure yourself out, kageyama, but we're here to reassure you that no matter what you do, we're still a team."  
"and we support you." suga adds in, with his signature beam. it's reassuring, all right, but kageyama still has that pulverising feeling coursing through his body.  
"you need to take care of hinata, too." daichi slips in, as he and suga begin to walk again, back towards the cabins where the others are oblivious to what's going on outside. "if he's, y'know. someone you care about? he's fragile, and a bad move could break him easily, yeah? just take it easy with him. it's going to be fine. and for the love of god,  _please_  pay attention in practice again."  
with that, they're gone, strolling through the door, swinging it shut behind them.

kageyama's turbulent. he watches the foam crests of the waves crash against each other for a while, peppered with driftwood, tiny patches of stick-on stars drifting on a sea of reflected bittersweet sienna.  
then he, too, heads back into the cabin.

**iv.**

****_now_

daichi and suga were right, kageyama realises. even if he's not completely gay, even if he's not into the idea of kissing another boy- well, it doesn't matter, because he  _is_  into the idea of kissing hinata. and that's what makes the biggest impact, at the very least. the fact that whatever hinata is- a guy, a girl, an  _alien_  for all kageyama cares- it doesn't make a difference to him, so long as he's  _hinata_.  
  
it's hinata who he aches for with every fibre of his body; it's hinata who makes him feel that way. he makes kageyama want to scream and sob, and he's the reason why kageyama chokes on air sometimes and so often feels the swell of a lump blistering in his throat. hinata makes him want to run far, far away until his muscles are roaring and his pulse is hammering, makes him want to dive off of the edge of the universe only to realise that he’s been a bird all along, makes him want to tear his own hair out and cry bitterly and implode with anger. he makes kageyama want to spend lingering nights wondering about life, and he makes kageyama want to grab him by the collar, punch him a thousand times, kiss him until his lips are stained black-and-blue.

nonetheless, all is not violent. it's an entirely foreign feeling, but kageyama also wants to put his arms around hinata and pull him close; he wants to make the other boy steaming-hot soup when he's sick, feel those smooth legs tangled with his own under a sweaty quilt, trace his smiling features in the pink glow of an early sunrise. people have always called him selfish for his actions on the volleyball court, but really, kageyama knows he is selfish in wholly different ways. he wants hinata, wants all of him; he wants the smiles and the fights, the arguments and the closer-than-comfort intimacy. he wants to be able to freely ruffle hinata's locks without looking creepy, he wants to be able to gaze at him without seeming obsessive, he just wants  _hinata_. everything.  _all of him._

_selfish bastard._  
_arrogant._  
_lone genius._  
_faggot._

it's going to be difficult from hereon, kageyama knows. most people aren't as sympathetic, as considerate and gracious as suga and daichi, and most people aren't comfortable with the idea of someone being in love with a person of the same gender. on top of that, the very notion of  _liking_  someone is hard as it is- love, kageyama thinks, is a funny thing, something that causes infinite heartache yet still has people yearning after it. he's chasing it, too, so he _should_ know. but he's still going to go after it, try to catch up to hinata, who's running in front of him with arms spread wide and battered volleyball trainers thudding on the ground.

maybe one day, he'll catch up to the sun, destroy all the monsters in his mind, fade away the perpetual anger hinata makes to feel. maybe one day he'll be able to cut at the gossamer thread binding his infatuation with a thousand different negative feelings, allow himself him to love whole-heartedly, irrevocably.  
but for now, kageyama thinks as he stares out at the ocean- the taste of cloying water, all bitter sea-salt and harsh words lingering between the cracks of his lips- he has only one job.  
he needs to catch up to himself.

**Author's Note:**

> i've read thousands of absolutely brilliant stories lately + i feel rlly unsure about my own writing now,, idk i really want to get better at this?? but i don't have much time sigh  
> however, as always, thank you so much for reading!! leaving a comment or feedback always encourages me + pulls me out of my chronic writers' block. have a nice day!! : )


End file.
